


in the end I started thinking about the beginning

by infinitelymint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Travel Blogger!Louis, Wedding Planner!Harry, fair warning: there's a Zerrie wedding in this, mentions of past shitty and closeminded parential behaviour, nearly no angst really, so fair warning if that triggers you, so if that's not your cup of tea.. well...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitelymint/pseuds/infinitelymint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis returned from Malaysia to attend his best mate Zayn's wedding, he hadn't expected their wedding planner to be Harry Styles. Over the next two weeks Louis learns that maybe staying in one place permanently isn't so bad, as long as you have someone to stay with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the end I started thinking about the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bufonophobe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bufonophobe/gifts).



> This fic is for Nina, my darling friend, who makes tumblr and life so much more fun for me every single day. Thank you. And Happy Birthday, love. You're the best xx
> 
>  **WARNING:** this features mentions of some past really shitty parental behaviour. The characters depicting Louis' family is in no way meant to reflect them in real life, rather they are original characters with nothing in common with his real life family. I do not believe they are as they're portrayed in the fic, and I'm not trying to insinuate that they are. **To avoid confusion, the name of Louis' mum in this story is Helen and his dad is Alan.**
> 
> Thank you ever so much for the last minute beta by T and katnikki, you guys are awesome!
> 
> Title is from 'In the End I Started' by Brinck. Go listen to it. Now! It's quite fitting.

[ ](http://imgur.com/jhnU28c)

**in the end I started thinking about the beginning**

For someone who's never actually gone to uni, Louis feels like he's achieved quite a lot in life. He's walked among the ancient Angkor Wat temples in Cambodia, strolled down the lantern lit streets of Hoi An's old city, drank his fair share of buckets at Koh Phanang's full moon party and camped out on the Great Wall of China. He’s learned to make sushi in Japan, paella in Spain and pasta in Italy. He's visited the Grand Canyon and hiked up to the Hollywood sign in the middle of the night, cruised along American roads with the top down and wind blowing in his hair. He’s attended an American football game in Green Bay, a hockey match in Toronto and a footie match in Buenos Aires. He’s hiked up the Inka trail to Machu Picchu in Peru, stood next to Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, gone on a safari in Kenya and tanned on more beaches all over the world than he could ever dream to count.   

And he's done his fair share of those things with Zayn.

Something he hasn't done, though, over the last eight years, is return to England. Not until now. It seems only fitting that it's Zayn bringing him back.

Zayn, who, in what seemed like a blink of an eye to Louis, had gone from pot smoking, bucket drinking laisses faire traveller, to devoted, long term boyfriend and soon to be husband. Looking at him now, it's almost difficult to understand that he's the same person that Louis had met at twenty-one, sharing some mushrooms and a blowie behind a palm tree in Thailand. They've experienced so much together, Zayn being the biggest support in Louis life over the last five years since they met, the most stable, the most constant.

Louis had even been there when Zayn met Perrie. Louis was twenty-one, Zayn twenty and they'd only met three months prior. Zayn was doing the whole gap-year thing, travelling the world, and Louis was drifting like he'd done for the last coming on three years. They'd ended up in South America, taking up work on a farm where they happened to run into the bubbliest girl, a stark contrast to Zayn's broody persona in everything from her spirits, to her love for pop music, to her bubblegum pink hair. When they'd packed their bags and travelled on, Perrie had gone with them.

Today her hair is a natural caramel colour, but she is still just as sunshine-y and Zayn is every bit as enraptured by her as the day he'd met her.

If they weren't Louis' two best friends, he'd be mind-numbingly jealous over what they have.

Perrie's the one waiting for him when he's finally through baggage claim and customs, the nearly fourteen hours it took him to get from Kuala Lumpur to London having taken its toll. He's pretty used to flying, pretty used to flying long distance too, what with it having been his occupation since he all but fled England when he was eighteen, but it doesn’t mean he finds the flying particularly comfortable.

Back then, he'd pooled together the little money he'd saved up flipping burgers and selling toys while doing his A-levels, and he'd booked a one-way ticket to Bangkok. It was reckless and foolhardy, but he didn't see many other options. Staying in England didn't feel very tempting anymore. He'd gotten a job at a local school teaching English, and why they'd want a fresh-faced kid like him, not even with a uni degree to him name, he'll never know, but he'll always be grateful. He soon discovered that there was very little shortage of the amount of places in the world willing to offer work to an English traveller, so from Bangkok he went on to Beijing, teaching some more, and then to Australia where he got some seasonal work at a farm, picking fruit.

He'd been travelling for six months, getting by, when he started his blog. Tommo's Travels started out slow, but hit with the same momentum as a snowball falling down a snow-covered hill, it gained more and more clicks until he had more readers every day than there were people in his hometown. And with the readership and recognition came the sponsorships. People were reading his posts, taking his advice, and soon hotels, and resorts, and all sorts of companies were inviting him places and gifting him things, until he could actually live off his blog, live off the sponsorships and his travels. Eventually he was named ‘Travel Blogger of the Year’ by the New York Times.

It seemed almost ridiculous that something he'd fled to on his life's lowest, ended up being the high of his life. He lived the life of a nomad, going from place to place, writing guides and recommendations, testing out tourist spots and hotels, going through cities on every kind of budget until two years ago when an email ticked into his mailbox. Perhaps, well, _probably_ , the most life changing email he'd ever gotten; a job offer from the New York Times. An offer to be a travel blogger for them, a bi-weekly column in the paper, just... just the dream he'd never even known he had, really.

And now he's back. Eight years since the last time he set foot on English soil, he's back. Back with achievements under his belt that he can be more than proud of, and back with so many wonderful and irreplaceable memories. It might only be for two weeks, and he might only be staying in London, going nowhere near his home town, but even still, it feels a bit like it’s a ghost town in his mind, haunting him, always. Even now that he's here, it’s in the back of his mind, like he expects to turn a corner and walk straight into someone from his past. There's something to say about returning to a place where you've got too many ghosts, too much unfinished business.

"Louis," Perrie calls out happily, closing the last distance between them in a run before flinging her arms around him, hugging him close. Louis hugs her back just as rightly, his bags dropped at his feet. He hasn't seen Zayn nor Perrie in almost a year, the two of the too busy with work; Zayn teaching English and Art at a London public school and Perrie having gotten a job at a PR firm after uni. They've all been busy, so they've had to make do with old-fashioned post cards and Skype calls, Louis having spent countless hours with Perrie on the other end while she rattled off wedding statistics and talks, Zayn sitting beside her while he quietly graded papers.

Now he's here though, and the next two weeks he's got nothing on his agenda except for helping Perrie organise the last of the wedding details, throwing Zayn the perfect stag do, and attending their, no doubt, beautiful and tear-jerking wedding. Then, afterwards, there's a ticket waiting for him to New York, a meeting with the paper set up to discuss the direction to continue his blog and column in. It's all a very exciting time to be Louis Tomlinson, really.

"I know you must be massively jetlagged, Lou," Perrie is saying as Louis picks up his luggage again, Perrie swinging his carry-on duffel over her shoulder. "But I was wondering if you'd come with me to meet the wedding planner now? He's so lovely, he's been such a lifesaver, and we never could have arranged it this quickly if not for him. I'm meeting him to look at ideas for placement cards, yeah? I was just gonna narrow it down to two and then make the final decision with Zayn, but I could probably really use your help doing that. Harry's got such excellent taste and a fucking brilliant eye for what we like, I'm probably going to end up loving every single one he shows me."

"Sure, Pez," Louis grins, swinging his arm around her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "'Course I'll go with you. S'what I'm here for, innit?"

"You're a life saver, Louis," Perrie practically sighs in relief. "Truly."

"A starving one too, plane food was horrid. Is there time to grab lunch before?" He asks as they stop in front of Perrie's car, blessedly parked close to the airport's entrance. "I could really kill for some proper fish and chips."

"Of course," Perrie laughs as she slides into the driver's seat. "Suppose it's been a while since you had that?"

"You've no idea," Louis laughs. "I was never even much of a fan until I was in the middle of the Amazon Jungle and had no way of getting it, you know?"

"The heart wants what it can't have." Perrie winks at him as she starts the car.

"More like my stomach," Louis corrects her with apparent amusement. "I'm prepared to eat everything British for the next two weeks and I can't wait."

"Sounds like a good idea, Tommo, make yourself sick of it before you leave. Sound plan, that."

"Well," Louis shrugs nonchalantly, "I'm nothing if not filled with good ideas."

"Like that time you thought you didn't need a guided trekking tour in Chiang Mai and could just do it yourself?" Perrie asks with a glance at him and a raised eyebrow.

"You know about that?" Louis asks with a surprised laugh, shaking his head slightly at his own stupidity. They'd ended up getting lost and it was only through dumb luck that they managed to find their way back eventually. "Zayn told you?"

"Zayn tells me everything." Perrie winks, looking over her shoulder and taking a left turn.

"Right," Louis says sceptically, sarcastically, though they both know she's probably mostly right.

"I know all about your adventures, Lou," she says gravely, just a hint of jest to be found in her voice. "Even the initial blowjobs."

Louis groans, shaking his head as he buries it in his hands briefly. "Come on, Pez, we don't talk about that."

”Well,” she shrugs, ”I for one find it kind of hot; I don’t know why we don’t talk about it more.” She’s teasing, clearly, loving what a rise it gets out of Louis, but he can’t help but indulge her a bit in it, because, just, him and Zayn… _no_. Yikes. No.

“That’s like asking me to shag my brother, Pez.” He groans again. “Come on, no, no, just no.”

“Well—“ She starts again, unable to hide her grin this time.

“It was only blowjobs, Pez,” Louis interrupts her somewhat desperately. “We were stoned and we didn’t know each other, and can we just pretend it never happened?”

“Alright, alright,” Perris laughingly agrees, reaching over to pat his thigh. Louis leans his head back against the headrest and shakes his head. They haven’t as much as snogged since that first night they met -- him and Zayn. As soon as they sobered up and got talking, found out how great they clicked on an entirely platonic level, hooking up again just felt odd, especially since neither of them had any trouble finding other people when they went out. Once Zayn had met Perrie it was entirely out of the picture.

Eventually Perrie pulls up in front of a small take away shop, parking the car easily. “We can walk to Harry’s office afterwards; it’s only a five minutes’ walk away.”

Nodding, Louis gets out of the car, pulling his coat tighter around him. He’s just spent three weeks in Malaysia, he’s not exactly used to the cold of October in England yet. “Sounds great.”

“And then after Harry, we can drive back and get you settled into the guestroom. Zayn already made sure to crank up the heat for you.”

“You guys are saints,” Louis grins, pushing into the tiny shop, being met instantly with a smell of fish and grease and absolute heaven. He’s really very hungry, thank you very much. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying with you, though? I can easily get a hotel room.”

“Don’t be silly,” Perrie chastises him, “Of course you’ll stay with us. You might be the last one to get to use it as a guestroom, if Zayn has his way.” She winks at him as they get into line, but it takes Louis a couple of seconds to catch up on her meaning. He blames it on jetlag.

“Wait,” he starts once he realises what she’s insinuating. “Are you--?”

“Not yet.” Perrie shakes her head with a small smile and a shrug. “We’re gonna start trying after the wedding though, I think. We’re both ready.”

“God, Pez,” Louis says, smile widening in joy, “That’s so wonderful. You’re gonna have the cutest kids, I can’t wait to spoil them rotten.”

“Think you’ll find time to visit England more often then?” Perrie asks, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Well, I’ve never done a trip through the UK, which does seem like an embarrassing hole in my travelling.” He says, thinking privately that being back isn’t a bad as he’d feared. Not so far at least. Considering it, though, it seems almost ridiculous, like what was he expecting? A line-up of everything that’s kept him out of England waiting for him the second he stepped foot outside Heathrow Airport? No, of course not. London has nothing against him; all his demons are up north. He won’t be facing them anytime soon, won’t be facing them at all if he’s got any say in it. He’ll make UK his next travel destination, sure, but he’ll stay a hell of a long way away from Doncaster. The town’s got nothing to do on any travel itinerary anyway.

They order and eat quickly, making random small talk about Louis’ latest travels and Perrie filling him in on all the details they’ve arranged for the wedding so far. Apparently this Harry guy truly has been a saint, understanding exactly what it was Perrie and Zayn wanted. It’s so them, what she’s describing, Louis almost wants to cry.

They’re gonna keep it simple, soft whites and beiges, and then small splatterings of bright colours and comic book pages and references. It’s so lovely, Louis thinks, that Perrie encouraged Zayn to get involved in the planning, letting him leave his touch on it as well.  Perrie’s dress is going to be a traditional albeit simple white one, while her wedding bouquet will be made out of comic book pages, apparently Harry’s idea. Louis is a bit sceptical about that one, but he’ll take her word for the coolness of it. Zayn spent an uncharacteristic long time telling Louis about the wedding cake a few weeks back. Perrie had given him free reigns over the design of it, and Zayn had sketched the most perfect mix of an elegant and cool four tier wedding cake. The bakery Harry’d recommended had been excited about taking Zayn’s sketches and turning them into an actual cake. The decorations for the following reception and dinner have been designed by Zayn too, everything except for the place cards apparently having already been arranged. Zayn told him how he’d sketched up a few ideas and dropped them off with Harry’s assistant, Niall, and now Harry’s ready with several suggestions to how it could look.

It sounds a lot different from how Louis thought arranging a wedding would be, but when he voices this out loud to Perrie, she tells him that that’s exactly why they chose Harry, that apparently he’s one of the best in London, but also one of the most innovative when it comes to his methods. Louis can’t help but think it sounds exactly like this Harry fellow is perfect for Perrie and Zayn, and their anything-but-traditional wedding.

When he’s put the last chip in his mouth, and downed the last of his can of Coca Cola, Perrie likewise done, they leave the store. The walk is only five minutes or so before Perrie stops up, declaring they’ve arrived.

The building they stop in front of is really nothing special. There are a number of small plaques by the entrance door, announcing who resides in the building, but Louis doesn't take his time to read it as Perrie pushes the door open. They trudge up the stairs to the second floor, and it's so obvious that she's been here before.

Louis has watched an embarrassing amount of wedding planning shows while lounging in hotels all of the world, and he's always found them kind of scary. Or maybe it was the brides who were scary. Maybe actually both. Whatever it is, or was, Louis is so happy that Perrie has found someone she likes so much, someone who really seems to ease her stress level even now only two weeks from the wedding. Whoever this Harry bloke is, Louis is grateful for that. Perrie and Zayn deserve their dream wedding, and if what Perrie's been saying is any indication; they seemed to have found the perfect wedding planner for the task.

Once they enter the door to what must be the planner's office space, they're met with a large waiting room, a blond man sitting by a desk on the left side of the room. Louis must look every bit as confused as he feels, because Perrie giggles, saying, "It used to be a small Doctor's office: That's what's with the waiting room."

"And it works perfectly for me," the blond lad grins, noticing them, "Otherwise Harry would probably have me working out of a broom closet, to be honest."

Perrie has lead Louis towards the man, and he stops in front of the desk, shaking the man's hand as he holds it out towards him.

"Niall Horan," he says, smile big and friendly, a sort of easy-going aura about him that Louis can't help but appreciate. "I'm Harry's secretary, accountant and best mate."

"Louis Tomlinson, best man." Louis grins back, "Those are some titles you have there."

Niall cackles loudly. "It's a tough job, let me tell you that."

"Tough jobs, more like." Louis chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

"The best mate one no doubt the worst," Niall replies mock-solemnly. "But you must know all about that, being the best man and all."

"Something like that." Louis smiles with a small shrug. Truth is that with all the travelling he does, he sadly isn't there for Zayn nearly as much as he should be. At least they've gotten to see each other nearly every summer when Louis has him and Perrie flown out to wherever he's working and spending a few weeks with them there, but it's really got nothing on spending everyday with him like Niall must be doing with this Harry fellow. Now that he's conquered the beast that is England though, trespassed its borders, maybe he can somehow make amends.

"Harry's ready for you, Perrie," Niall continues to say. "Just go straight in."

"As usual, then." Perrie smiles, looping her arm through Louis' and leading him towards the door. "Thanks, Niall," she casts over her shoulder, before knocking quickly on the door now in front of them, arm still through Louis', and pushing the door open.

"Perrie!" A voice greets as Perrie pushes through the door, and shit, fuck, even before Louis himself steps into the office, even before he sees the man on the other side of the door, he knows. Fuck, _he knows_. He knows that voice, has been haunted by that voice for eight years.

Guess there really is no running from your ghosts; they'll always catch up with you. What an absolutely laughable way of doing so, though. Just fucking ridiculous.

There's really nothing he can do; can't run, can't hide, can only walk into the office, facing the man from his past, facing Harry. God, there must the hundreds of thousands of Harry's in England, maybe even in London, what are the odds that this Harry is _his_ Harry? _Was_ his Harry. He'd never even considered the possibility for even a split second.

Now, fuck, now he's gotta walk in there and face Harry, and... he's honestly not sure how he's supposed to do that. He doesn't even know what he would do or say or how to act even if he had been prepared to meet him again. Naively, he'd thought he never would have to, or at least that if he ever did, it would be on his terms, it would be at some point in the far out future when he was old and wise and ready to apologise for how he handled things back then, when he was capable of taking the high road, being the bigger person. Now he just feels trapped and awful, hurt and guilty and so fucking confused.

He can’t loiter outside the door any longer without it seeming suspicious, though, so he sucks in a deep breath, manning up and enters the office.

“Ah, Louis,” Perrie says, taking his hand and pulling him forwards. “This is our wedding planner I was telling you about, Harry Styles. Harry, this is Zayn’s best man, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Lou—“ Harry stutters, turning enough to face Louis full on, surprise edged into his face. There goes the plan of pretending they don’t know each other, no way Perrie won’t pick up on the weirdness right now. “ _Louis?!_ ”

“Harry,” Louis nods at him civilly, ignoring Perrie’s no doubt inquiring face next to him. Harry looks exactly the same and so much different all at once. There’s no doubt, could never be any doubt that it’s him, though. He’s taller than he was at sixteen, taller than Louis even, now. He’s got the same head of brown curls, though, albeit they’re longer now, reaching down to his shoulders easily, a light blue scarf decorated with white snowflakes tied into it. He’s beautiful, Louis can’t help but notice. Tall and broad, legs that go on for miles, clad in tight skinny jeans to rival even Louis’, and… are those _tattoos?_ Peeking out through the opening in Harry’s shirt are two birds, and on his arms are countless other tattoos. Louis can’t help but remember all of those covering his own body, despite how he’d sworn he’d never get one back when he’d known Harry.

The last thing he notices is Harry’s face, how it’s matured into a strong jaw and a broad nose, plump pink lips and shining green eyes, even now when they’re staring widely into Louis’ eyes, completely taken aback. There’s a light stubble covering his cheeks, and it’s just… Harry’s an _adult_ , Harry’s grown up, he’s not the same boy Louis used to know, and just… _fuck_.

“You're the best man Louis who has arranged their secret honeymoon?” Harry questions disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms somewhat numbly, unsure what else to say. He’s saved by Perrie speaking up.

“Wait a minute,” she interrupts them, breaking their eye contact as they both turn to look at her. “You two know each other?”

“Uuh,” Harry starts, catching Louis eye and seeming quite unsure, like he doesn’t know what Louis wants Perrie to know. It’s so nice of him, so considerate and so _Harry_ to allow Louis to dictate what and how much to divulge to Louis’ friends.

“We grew up in the same town,” Louis addresses Perrie with a small smile, hoping that it doesn’t look nearly as stiff as it feels. “Didn’t know that your wedding planner Harry was in fact Harry Styles.”

“No…” Perrie hesitates, looking between them like she just knows that there’s more to the story than Louis is telling. She probably does, and of course she’s right. There’s no way Louis can get out of filling in both her and Zayn now. “No, I guess I never mentioned his last name. Wha—“

“I’ll fill you in when we get home, yeah?” Louis interrupts her, compromising. “Don’t want to waste Harry’s time.”

Harry’s quiet where he’s standing, lips pressed together in a thin line, like he’s preventing himself from saying anything.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Perrie says slowly, her gaze very clearly telling Louis that they’ll talk about this later. “And yeah, Louis is the one arranging our honeymoon. He’s a travel blogger for the New York Times. But, I don’t know, I guess you already knew that?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head, looking extraordinarily uncomfortable. “No, I—“

“We lost contact when I left England,” Louis jumps in, explaining, voice strained and awkward. He hopes Perrie doesn’t pick up on it. Harry snorts quietly, almost unintelligible. Louis ignores him.

“Oh,” Perrie starts, clearly unsure what to say or what to do about the odd mood that seems to have permeated the air between the three of them. She keeps looking between them, like she’s not sure where to look or what to do. Louis sympathises, he isn’t either.

“Pez,” Harry says, interrupting the tense feeling that’s settled over the three of them. Something tugs in Louis’ gut at hearing Perrie’s nickname being used by Harry. “Something’s arrived for you, I almost forgot.” He changes the subject gracefully, grabs a white box that sitting on the edge of his desk and hands it to Perrie, who accepts it, clearly as in the dark about what’s in the box as Louis. She slowly pulls off the lid and then gasps, the content of the box still hidden from Louis’ view.

Louis chances a look at Harry, and sees that the other man’s eyes are trained on Perrie too, taking in her reaction with a small smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, Harry,” Perrie gets out, looking positively choked up.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, his smile widening until it’s a full blown grin.

“Like it?” Perrie laughs, “Are you kidding me, Harry? Bloody hell, this is better than I’d dared hope for. Oh, my god. Lou, look at it.”

She thrusts the box into Louis’ hands, and he accepts it clumsily, peering into the box with poorly hidden curiosity. Inside is the bouquet Perrie’d tried to describe to him, and it’s _beautiful._ It really is made entirely of comic book pages that’ve been folded into roses and some sort of other flower, mostly in yellow nuances though a few other colours have snuck their way in. It’s incredible really, nothing like what Louis had imagined when Perrie had described it to him.

“God, Pez, this is amazing.” He grins, looking up at her and matching her wide smile. “Zayn is going to absolutely love this. You’re gonna be so fucking gorgeous.”

“Oh, hush,” Perrie laughs, a light blush colouring her cheeks as she bumps her shoulder against his. “Really, though, Harry.” She looks up to address him, as Louis places the box back on Harry’s desk. “This is even better than I’d dared hope for.”

“I’m glad,” Harry says, sounding almost bashful, “These also arrived,” he hands her a longer but thinner box, equally white and non-descript.

Accepting it, Perrie nearly squeals when she opens it, grin wide and just so, so happy and excited. Louis can’t help but let his eyes drift to Harry again, seeing the same look of joy mirrored there, like he just gets so much pleasure from pleasing his customers. Knowing Harry that’s absolutely the case, a pleaser more than anything else, he’s always been.

“Look at these, Lou,” Perrie says, handing him the box. “You’re going to be wearing one of these.”

He accepts the box from her, eyes widening when he sees the three boutonnieres nestled there, likewise made out of comic book pages. “Wicked,” he exclaims, one hundred percent sincere. “Your wedding is gonna be so bloody cool, Pez, you’re making me want to get hitched.”

Laughing, Perrie shakes her head, taking the box back from him and putting it on the table on top of the bouquet with the same care as though it were a newborn baby. Harry awkwardly clears his throat.

“Right,” he says, “And I’ve got the ideas for placement cards here as well, if you’d like to take a look?”

“Please.” Perrie nods. She moves to sit down in one of the chairs in front of Harry’s desk, and Louis sits down in the other. Harry closes his computer and moves it to the side so that the desk is cleared between them, before spreading our different variations of placement cards, varying from very traditional and very little superhero to very, very superhero and very little tradition. It’s easy to see that they have Zayn’s prints on all of them, the company doing them having done an amazing job.

“These are all so wonderful, Harry,” Perrie gushes, shaking her head. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to narrow it down. Maybe I should just take them all back to Zayn and have him help choose?” The last part of the sentence is directed at Louis, one of Perrie’s eyebrows arched in question.

“Come on, Pez,” Louis protests, leaning closer to the table to better see the cards. “You can at least narrow it down a little. How dominating do you want the superhero theme to be?”

“Well,” Perrie hesitates, “We can at least put away the white ones. I want it to be visible, you know? Especially since it’s Zayn’s art.”

“Excellent,” Harry says, removing the most traditional of the cards. “They were a bit boring anyway, if you ask me, and you and Zayn are anything but boring, as far as I can see.”

“You should have seen us around the time we met Louis.” Perrie chuckles. “My hair was bright pink and Zayn’s quiff was partially blond.”

“Sounds like you made a great couple from the very start.” Harry smiles kindly, ignoring Louis completely. Louis is kind of relieved, really, can work with largely just focussing on Perrie and pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Louis runs a hand through his hair for something to do with it, and suddenly remembers how he just came off a fourteen hour plane only a couple of hours ago. He’s not looking particularly appealing right now, his hair lying flat and unstyled over his forehead, a ragged Adidas jumper he’s pretty sure he once bought on the Silk Market under his coat, a pair of black joggers on his legs, an unflattering stain on his left thigh from some unidentifiable plane food. It’s not exactly how he wishes he’d look the first time he ran into his past, and yet here he is. At least he’s got the tan going for him.

“Yeah.” Perrie smiles at Harry, looking so sickeningly in love just from the thought of Zayn that Louis almost wants to groan. “Not sure we would have gotten it together if not for this one, though.” Perrie nudges Louis with her elbow. “Was there every step of the way. He was even the one who invited me to join them on the rest of their trip through South America, when Zayn was too shy to.”

“He thought you’d say no,” Louis butts in with a small smile, remembering the time only too well. “But I knew, Pez, I just knew you were every bit as gone for him as he was for you. I could see the true love right there in front of my very eyes; I couldn’t just let you part ways, who knows if you’d ever have met up again.”

“You’re full of it,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m forever grateful for it, love.” Perrie grins, bending down to rest her head against his shoulder for a moment before straightening back up. “Oh,” she then exclaims, quite out of the blue, bending forward to grab a card. “This one, or—or this one.” she grabs another, practically shoving them under Louis’ nose.

He takes them from her with a smile, holding them out a bit to be able to see them clearer. They’re lovely both of them, both with a white, creamy background, the name done in classic comic book font and then where one is decorated with comic book sketched of superheroes, clearly done by Zayn, the other is covered with various catchphrases like ‘POW’ and ‘ZAP’ and ‘WHOOSH’. They’re both lovely in each their way, and he smiles up at Perrie, giving her a small nod. “Yeah, these are great, Pez.”

She nods, a thoughtful look on her face as she looks over the remaining one last time. “I think I’ll take these home to Zayn, Harry, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Harry shakes his head, collecting the remaining and putting them back in a small plastic pocket. “Just let me know which you want by the end of the week, so I can make sure they’re produced in time for your wedding, and all should be in order. I got final confirmation from the caterer too, and the bakery and venue, of course. I’ll make sure the venue is fixed and decorated as we’ve agreed, so you only need to worry about saying yes to Zayn and enjoying your big day; I’ve got everything else under control.”

“You really are a life-saver, Harry.” Perrie smiles, clearly relieved. “I feel so stressed, and I have hardly even lifted a finger planning this. I have a newfound understanding for those Bridezillas!”

“Trust me, love,” Harry grins, getting up from his chair and moving around the desk. “I’ve had plenty of those, and you could never be like that.”

“You’re such a sweet talker.” Perrie laughs, pulling Harry in for a goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, Harry. I better get Lou home before jetlag drags him under; he’s come straight from Malaysia.”

“Of course.” Harry smiles, as he steps back from her, eyes flitting to meet Louis’ briefly, as though he’s taking him in again with this newfound information in mind.

“Are you ready, Lou?” Perrie asks him, startling Louis out of his thoughts.

He gets up from his seat, nodding. “Yeah. Well, actually, can I just have a quick word with Harry? Super-secret best man stuff, you know? I’ll be out in a second.”

Perrie looks at him calculatingly for a moment, before answering, “Of course, I’ll just have a quick chat with Niall while I wait for you.” She hurries out of the door, leaving Louis alone with Harry.

The other man looks at him expectantly, saying nothing as he waits for Louis to speak. Louis fidgets under his gaze, feeling uncomfortable, because after all these years he’s never thought he’d see Harry again, much less under these kinds of circumstances. He’s doing this for Zayn and Perrie, though, he’d be a shit best man if not.

“Look,” he starts with a shrug, “I get if you don’t want to, now that you know I’m the best man, but I was wondering if you’d have time to meet up with me? I’d like your assistance with a couple of things.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, clearing his throat, “Um, of course. That’s my job, innit? I’m pretty booked, but I can squeeze you in tomorrow during my lunch break if that fits you?”

Louis frowns, not wanting to put Harry out. “Are you sure?” he questions. “I don’t want to, like, inconvenience you or anything.”

“No, it’s no problem,” Harry assures him. “We can just meet at the pub down the street so I won’t have to starve myself from working through my lunch.”

“Alright,” Louis finally settles on. “If you’re sure, that’d be really nice.”

“I’m sure,” Harry confirms with a nod, jaw set. “I’ll see you at one?”

“Right.” Louis coughs, nodding. “Right, yeah, tomorrow. One at the pub. I’ll be there. Thank you.” He turns around, somewhat awkwardly, already unsure of how he’ll sit through an hour of one on one time with Harry. Closing the door behind himself, he could have sworn he hears a quiet “Goodbye, Lou,” coming from Harry. Then again, he might as well be hearing things.

 

\--

 

He only manages to dodge Perrie’s uncountable enquiries about himself and Harry because he tells her he doesn’t want to tell the story twice, or have her blab it all to Zayn with mixed up details later. If he’s telling them everything, he’s going to do it to both of them at once. She reluctantly agrees, changing the topic to that of the things Harry’d shown them. Louis is more than happy to go through it with her, wants nothing more than to distract her from the conversation they will have once they step through the doors of Zayn and Perrie’s flat. He’s not ready to talk about it all, if he’s perfectly honest. He avoids even thinking about it if he can; it’s never pleasant when he does.

When they finally make it there and up the flight of stairs and inside the flat, the first thing Perrie does is call out for Zayn.

“Louis knows our wedding planner, Harry,” she yells in lieu of the ordinary ‘honey, I’m home’.

“What?” comes Zayn’s confused reply from where Louis assumes their living room is. He can hear feet scuttle closer, and soon Zayn’s there as well, pulling in Louis in a tight hug before Louis can even say ‘hi’.

Louis hugs him back, tugging his face into Zayn’s neck and swaying slightly, tightening his hold around Zayn’s waist. He’s missed him, alright.

“Apparently Harry and Louis grew up together,” Perrie explains, narrowing her eyes though a smile still plays on her lips. “They tried to play it off, but there’s more to the story, trust me. They were way too awkward just to have gone to the same school.”

“You know Harry?” Zayn asks him, raising his eyebrow. “You never said.”

“Well,” Louis says sarcastically, shrugging off his coat. “It’s not exactly like I could know that your wedding planner Harry is in fact Harry Styles, is it? Contrary to what seems to be popular belief, I’m not psychic.”

Perrie swats his shoulder with a grin, and moves to kiss Zayn hello. “We know; I’m sorry. I’m just surprised and curious. I’ll fix us some tea, yeah? Proper Yorkshire and all. You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

Louis shakes his head, small fond smile playing on his face. “I’ll tell you -- don’t worry, Pez. But a cuppa would be nice.”

“Come on, Lou,” Zayn mumbles then, picking up his bags and moving down the hall. “Let’s dump your stuff in your room and go sit in the living room.”

Louis follows him, and it’s not until he remembers Perrie’s words from earlier that he stops Zayn with a hand on his arm. The other man has already put down Louis’ bags in a modest looking guestroom. “Perrie said you were going to start trying after the wedding.” He grins, squeezing Zayn’s bicep.

Zayn’s lips spread into a wide smile. “Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “We are. Crazy, innit? Seems like it’s only a few months ago we contemplated going tubing in Vang Vieng.”

Louis shutters involuntarily. “Good thing we didn’t do that, eh?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, bumping his shoulder against Louis’ as they walk back into the living room. “That’d have been a terrible example to set for the kids.”

“The kids, god,” Louis breathes, shaking his head before plumping down into the soft sofa cushions. “Can you believe we’re at that point in our lives where kids are a reality?”

“What are you talking about, Tommo?” Zayn grins, teasing him like he always does. “You’re still a bachelor, aren’t you? Gonna top the list of most eligible ones soon.”

Louis shakes his head with a laugh. “You try finding the love of your life when you rarely stay the same place for more than a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe it’s time for settling down, then, eh?” Zayn nudges his shoulder. “London’s a good place for it, I’ve heard.”

Louis laughs while Perrie re-enters the living room, a teapot in one hand and a three cups in the other. “You don’t say.” He replies, amused, standing up to take the cups from Perrie.

It doesn’t take long before they’ve all settled into their seats; Louis and Zayn in the sofa and Perrie in the big armchair opposite them, all of them with a steaming mug of tea in their hand.

“He used to be my best friend,” Louis starts, unprompted. He should probably have talked about all of this with someone ages ago, but he never had. It’s about time he lets Zayn and Perrie in. “Back when I was a kid. He moved to Doncaster when I was eight and he was six, and pretty much immediately we just clicked. We grew up together, proper besties, you know? We spent nearly every day together, sleep overs, footie games, pranks on our mothers. The whole deal.”

“What happened?” Perrie asks, a frown edged into her brow.

Louis shrugs, taking a sip of his tea before continuing. “You know what went down between my mum and me before I left, and, well, I never told Harry.”

“Never told him you were leaving, or—“ Zayn starts.

“Never told him I was leaving.” Louis interrupts, confirms. “I didn’t—I don’t—I didn’t tell him. I sent him postcards for a few months, until I started the blog, but he never contacted me back. Guess I hurt him too much.” _Or maybe he found out too, felt the same way as mum,_ he can’t help but think, even though he knows it’s irrational, has spent years going over it in his head. He’s over it anyway, he is. Water under the bridge and all.

Perrie and Zayn seem to understand that he doesn’t want to go into it anymore, so they both drop it. Zayn ends the conversation with a simple, “Well, maybe you can rekindle your relationship now, then.” Louis doesn’t think it’s likely, but he’s happy that it at least seems like Harry was willing to be civil.

They move into safer territory then, Louis filling them in on his latest travel adventures and Perrie and Zayn getting him up to speed on what has been going on with them, and what they already have planned for him over the next two weeks. Eventually they order in dinner, just a couple of pizzas from a place close to them that Zayn and Perrie swear have the best pizza in all of London. Now, Louis hasn’t had much pizza while in London, but he can’t deny that the countless pepperoni slices he eats are delicious, so he’ll take their word for it.

He goes to bed exhausted, jetlag and the long plane ride having him wiped, and in some godsend twist of events, he ends up sleeping thirteen hours, waking up only two hours before his scheduled meeting with Harry. He gets out of bed feeling groggy, a result of what’s probably too much sleep and time zone disorientation. A shower goes a long way of returning him to a state of a living, functional human being, though, and he’s determined to look a little bit less like a bum when meeting Harry today, so he evens borrows Perrie’s hair dryer and dries his hair with it, before sculpting it into a quiff. He pulls on his tightest pair of skinny jeans, not that he has many to choose from since he is pretty much living out of a backpack year round, and a shirt gifted to him from Vans with a rainbow on it. So what if it’s a bit of a statement.

He dashes out of the flat without having breakfast, only a cup of tea in his stomach, but he figures it’ll be fine since he’s literally meeting Harry for lunch. Business lunch, but still.

He takes the tube, hasn’t done it in London since he was here for a school trip when he was sixteen, but it’s so very obvious how the subway in Hong Kong is modelled after the London Underground, so he has no trouble manoeuvring the different lines, figuring out how to get to Harry’s office. He ends up outside the pub Harry’d picked five minutes to one, and contemplates whether he should go in and grab a table, or wait out front for Harry. He’s saved from further contemplation when Harry jogs up next to him, cheeks and nose already pinking despite the short trip from his office to the pub.

There’s an awkward five seconds where Louis wonders if they should hug, or shake hands, or, like, _something_ , but then Harry is greeting him with a small smile and a ‘hello’, before pushing open the door to the pub and hurrying inside into the heat. Louis follows.

It takes him a few moments to stop shivering, shaking his body exaggeratedly to rid himself of the trembles, and when he looks up again, he meets Harry’s eyes dead on, the other man having watched him with an odd expression. Surely he must be wondering what Louis is doing, so he shrugs, offering Harry a sheepish smile.

“I’ve been in Malaysia,” he says in a way of explaining, making Harry laugh briefly before stopping, as though catching himself doing it.

“Perrie mentioned,” he says, clearing his voice. The moment’s odd, and Louis doesn’t quite understand what happened.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, “Not used to the cold weather, it’s fucking my body up a bit.”

“Good thing we’re inside now, then,” Harry murmurs, and nods his head towards the bar. “Shall we order?”

“Please.” Louis nods. “I’m starving.”

They move there in silence, and Louis gets this ridiculous urge to fill it with chatter, because unlike the silence they often sat with between them back when they were best friends, this silence is just plain awkward. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a single second of awkward silence between himself and Harry until now, and as much as it shouldn’t, it feels sad. It’s like his body still needs to catch up with what his brain already knows now that he’s met Harry again; that they’re not friends. They’re not anything, really, hardly even acquaintances. So much will have changed in their eight years apart, just so much. Louis is definitely not the same person as he was when he left Doncaster, and he doubts this wedding planning, headscarf wearing version of Harry is the one he remembers either.

Louis can’t help but note that there’s no headscarf on Harry’s head today, rather this time it’s a soft beanie in burgundy marl. His long curls are still peeking out under it, tickling his shoulders, and a traitorous part of Louis wants to reach out and curl one around his finger, feel if it’s as soft as it looks, as soft as he remembers Harry’s hair to be. It’s the jetlag talking. Probably. _Definitely_.

He’s over it. _He is._

They place their orders; Louis a chicken pot pie and some chips, Harry a Greek salad, some hummus and pita, and then go to find a place to sit. The silence still lays over them, heavy and seemingly impenetrable.  He almost wishes that he hadn’t asked for this meeting at all.

“Look,” Louis says once they’ve sat in silence for a few minutes. He’s the one who asked for this meeting, he should be the one to open conversation too, it’s only fair. There’s a massive elephant in the room too, and he’s beginning to think that addressing it might be for the best, really. He clears his throat. “You seem to be doing well.”

“I am.” Harry nods, almost formally. “Things are really good.”

“I’m glad,” Louis murmurs, and he means it, means it so much. He’s never wished anything but happiness for Harry. Maybe the other lad has a girlfriend at home, maybe even a wife and a kid, maybe he’s got it all figured out, much unlike Louis. He hopes so, kind of.

“You look good too.” Harry says with a friendly smile. “Tan. Healthy. Happy.”

“Mostly,” Louis says with a small laugh. He breathes in deep, deciding to take the plunge. “Look, Harry,” he starts, scratching his head a bit. “About what happened back then—“

Harry shakes his head, waving his hand in the air in a dismissing motion, effectively cutting Louis off. “Let’s not get into it, Louis.” He says with a small shrug. “You’re leaving straight after the wedding, aren’t you?”

A bit confused, Louis nods.

“Let’s just let the past lie in the past,” Harry continues. “No use reopening old wounds when we’ll be out of each other’s hair again in a few weeks.”

Something akin to hurt spreads through Louis, though it’s entirely unfair that he’s feeling it. He’s not really allowed to feel hurt over the fact that Harry seems to have no interest in rekindling their friendship; Louis is the one who ended it in the first place after all. It’s not really odd that Harry has no interest in hearing Louis’ eight year old reasons now; he’s moved on, clearly, isn’t pining after Louis’ friendship or missing him. Louis can accept that. It’s been eight years, it’s not like he still feels what he used to for Harry, and even if he did, those feelings wouldn’t be for the Harry in front of him, but for the old one -- the one he grew up with. That Harry doesn’t exist anymore, much like the Louis of the past doesn’t exist anymore.

“You needed me for some things?” Harry breaks the awkward tension, asking.

“Oh, yeah.,” Louis nods, breaking himself out of his thoughts. He can be friendly and civil. He can treat Harry like the stranger he really is at the end of the day. “I’m not really familiar with London, haven’t been back in England since I left, so I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of a few shops that might have what I need.”

“Of course.” Harry smiles, and then nodding his thanks to the girl putting their plates of food in front of them, his dimples deepening for her until she’s blushing bashfully and hurrying away. “I assume it’s wedding related?”

Louis nods, popping a chip in his mouth. “Yeah, it’s for the car that’s taking them to the airport,” he explains, “I’ve rented the car already, of course, but I wanna decorate it a bit, you know? Just keep it in the theme, and I was wondering if you knew some people who might be able to make decorations for me on such a short notice. Perhaps the company doing those placement cards?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, having dug into his food as well. “That shouldn’t be a problem at all. They have all of Zayn’s sketches already, so they might be able to arrange something cool with them. You can give me your email and I’ll mail you some pictures of their suggestions, and you can get back to me on which you’d like?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis nods, digging through his pocket for his business cards, pulling out one and handing it to Harry. “That’d be wicked, really, mate.”

“No problem at all.” Harry waves him off. “Do you have the stag party under control? Zayn told me you’re doing it a week before because of your work.”

“Uhm, yeah.” Louis nods, suddenly feeling self-conscious, like the fact that the stag party is so late because of him makes him a bad best man. “I actually… like, well, Zayn asked me not to make a big deal out of it, you know? And, well, he’s not one of those people who says that all fake-modestly when they really want people to make a huge deal out of it. So it’s just gonna be pretty low-key. Just, you know, his closest friends. We’re gonna go watch the new Marvel film, and then there’s dinner at his favourite restaurant, and then I’ve rented a table at a pub I heard from a mate at the Times was excellent. So…” He trails off with a shrug, sure that it must sounds embarrassingly low-key to Harry who must have heard about thousands of more lavish and more impressive stag do’s in his time as a wedding planner.

“That sounds really lovely, Louis,” Harry says, smiling what seems to be genuinely. “Really. Much more intimate and nice than all those filled with blow-up dolls and strippers. It’s much more Zayn. At least much more like the vibe I get from him. Seems like you’ve planned something he’ll really like.”

“Thank you.” Louis smiles, feeling inexplicably relieved though he can’t quite explain why. He shouldn’t want nor need Harry’s seal of approval, and yet here he is, longing for it every bit as much as he did before he moved away from Doncaster.

“Are you going back up north while you’re in England?” Harry questions then, innocently, apparently not aware of what a sore subject that is to Louis. Not for the first time he wonders what his mum said to his friends, to her friends, to people in the town when he suddenly disappeared one day to the next. Did she tell it like it was; that she kicked out her fag of a son? Or did she make up some other reason? What does Harry really think about him now?

“To Doncaster?” Louis enquires, raising his brow to make sure he’s understanding Harry right.

“Yeah.” Harry nods, smiling innocently, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been back, not since we moved, probably.”

“You moved?” Louis can’t help but blurt out, even though Harry just stated as much, because it’s news to him. Then again, how could it not be news to him when he’s made no effort to contact Harry, or find out what was going on his life past his initial postcards to Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, eyeing him slightly oddly. “Robin got a job in Holmes Chapel. We moved shortly after you… left.”

“Oh,” Louis says, and maybe that explains Harry’s naïve thoughts that maybe Louis had gone back. “Um, no. No, I’m not going to Doncaster.”

“Why not?” Harry asks promptly, filterless. Then he seems to catch on to how invasive the questions is, and shakes his head bashfully. “Sorry,” he says, sounding embarrassed. “That was nosy, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Louis shakes his head, hopelessly endeared by the man in front of him, and with that all too familiar feeling of wanting to tell him everything, every little secret Louis keeps inside himself. “It’s okay,” he says, voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I haven’t been back since I left. I don’t have any contact with my family anymore.”

This information seems to shock Harry, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening before he regains control of his facial expressions. “Oh,” is all he can muster in reply at first. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think—“

His phone starts ringing.

Whatever Harry didn’t think, Louis never gets to know, because the other boy offers him an apologetic grimace and motions that he has to take the call. He does go quickly, stepping away from the table while Louis finishes the last of his lunch. When Harry returns, it’s to pop the last olive in his mouth, apologise for the call, and announce that he really has to get back, his next meeting with a client being in fifteen minutes.

They shake hands this time, and it’s still a little bit awkward, too formal for what they used to be, what they should have been now. Too stiff for this odd sort of limbo they seem to have found themselves in, where they’ve both decided on some tentative truce over a war that neither was sure on which premises was being fought. Maybe it never was at all. If anything, it was only ever a cold war, one fought with minds and feelings, hurt and downtrodden and left behind, or left alone. There’s no victor or defeated in the end, they’ve both lost the friendship that used to mean everything to them, but they also both seem to be happy and content where they are now.

As fucked up as everything is, maybe it’s how it was meant to be. Harry’s right under all circumstances; Louis is leaving in a couple of weeks, so it hardly seems worth it to hash up the past when it serves no larger purpose. They’re not going to get back to how they were, no matter how many hours they spend talking about what happened. Doesn’t seem like Harry has any interest in doing so anyway. He has managed just fine without Louis, just like Louis always knew he would.

In the end, it was probably for the best anyhow.

They say goodbye, civil and friendly, and part ways. In a few days he’ll receive a mail from Harry, and they’ll probably cross paths at the wedding when Harry’s overseeing that everything is going according to plan, but other than that he doesn’t expect they’ll see each other again. Ever, perhaps. It feels more bittersweet than it should, but maybe it can serve as a kind of closure having talked to Harry, knowing that he isn’t walking around wishing bad things on Louis. Not that Harry would ever do that anyway, no matter how much he might hate Louis. He’s always been too nice for his own good, balancing out Louis’ occasional mean streak.

He doesn’t expect it, when Zayn brings up Harry a couple of days after their meeting.

“You and Harry are on good terms, right?” Zayn asks, while they’re setting the table, Perrie in the kitchen pulling the roast out of the oven.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Louis replies, confused.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I’d like him to come to my stag party too?”

“Oh,” Louis shakes his head, slightly surprised. “I hadn’t realised you two were so close.”

“I like Harry.” Zayn shrugs. “I’ve gone out to get pints with him and Niall a few times now, they’re both a good time. I’d like them both to come, but, you know, not if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

“No, no,” Louis smiles at him, taking his place at the table. “I don’t mind. It’s your day, Z, you get to have whoever you want there.”

“It’s not too late to add them?” Zayn asks worried, sitting down opposite him.

“No, I can squeeze them in. It’s all pretty low-key, it won’t be a problem at all. Do you want me to text them?” He reaches across the table for the potatoes, spooning a few onto his plate as Perrie sets the roast down in the middle of the table and takes a seat next to Louis.

“Oh, that’d be nice.” Zayn nods, cutting into the roast. “You’re the one who knows where they should turn up and all, after all. I’ll give you their numbers after dinner.”

“Great.” Louis nods, “This smells heavenly, Pez.” He changes the subject, trying not to think about how he’ll have to spend the majority of a day with Harry now, getting drunk with Harry, it’s… it’s not what he signed up for when he returned to England, but he’d never dream of denying Zayn his friend’s presence at his stag do just because Louis doesn’t like being reminded of what he let go, and there’s a disturbingly large part of him who really wants to spend as much time with Harry as possible.

“Thanks, Lou.” Perrie grins. “It’s Zayn’s mum’s recipe; she’s been teaching me to make all his favourites whenever we visit them.”

“And I love them both for that.” Zayn grins, stuffing a piece of roast in his mouth and chewing through his grin. Louis loves when Zayn really, truly grins, when his face folds together until his eyes have reduced to slits and he just looks so _happy_. He prides himself on getting Zayn to look like that, but he can never exactly master it with the same ease as Perrie. He supposes it’s because he isn’t the one Zayn is in love with, and good riddance for that. They’d make a terrible couple anyway. Great friends, but a terrible, terrible couple, he thinks.

“Well, I do hope you have other reasons for loving them besides their ability to make roast,” Louis says drily, taking a bite of the meat which, to Perrie’s credit, really is delicious.

“I’ve got plenty, don’t worry, Lou.” Zayn laughs, while Perrie shakes her head next to Louis, apparently amused by both of them. He doesn’t say anymore, and Louis shakes his head solemnly.

“You’re right, Zayn,” he says mock-gravely. “Better not divulge any of the reasons. Save it for the wedding vows, smart man.”

“I’m not above throwing a spoonful of peas at you, Lou,” Zayn comments drily, scooping up the vegetable he’s threatening with, and looking at Louis with a raised brow.

“Oh, yes you are,” Perrie butts in, shaking her head. “Unless you’re gonna clean the flat yourself afterwards.”

Zayn’s attention shifts to her, and Louis watches in amusement as he softens slightly, grinning. “Well,” Zayn says, “I’m always the one hoovering anyway, babe, so…”

Perrie laughs shortly, “Alright then,” she shrugs, “By all means, shower Lou in my perfectly cooked peas, see if I care—“

“No offence, Pez,” Louis interrupts, “But I don’t think it’s that difficult to make peas.”

“Says the man who managed to burn a soup when we were doing that cooking class in Thailand,” Perrie retorts, looking wholly unimpressed. Louis supposes she has a point.

Louis exaggeratedly shovels a forkful of peas into his mouth, moaning heartily, making both Perrie and Zayn shake their head while laughing.

“Best peas I’ve ever had, truly, love.” He winks at her, before taking in another forkful of food. It’s really nice living here with Zayn and Perrie, mostly for the homey feel their flat has. He’s been living out of his backpack for so long by now, constantly on the move from place to place, unrooted, and it’s not until now that it truly hits him how tired he is of it. His life is filled with adventures, and he truly appreciates every single experience he’s gotten, but he misses having a base, he misses having a home, having someone to come home to. He misses companionship that goes beyond the one night, or a couple of days trekking through a jungle.

He wants to fall in love, and settle down, and find something worthwhile to spend his life on that doesn’t involve him moving from place to place constantly. He’s twenty-six years old and he’s been doing it since he was eighteen. Somehow, along the way, the novelty has worn off.

They finish their dinner, chatting comfortably throughout it, Zayn and Perrie bickering about whether strippers are go or no go for their respective stag and hen parties. Apparently Perrie’s chief bridesmaid, Jade, is hinting pretty heavily that there’ll be one there, and Zayn is protesting mostly out of jest. Louis is fairly sure he couldn’t care less when it comes down to it.

When they’re done, Louis offering to load the dishwasher, Zayn hands him a slip of paper with Niall and Harry’s names written on and their respective phone numbers. Louis can’t help but note how Harry hasn’t changed his since he was sixteen, the numbers forever etched into his mind.

He looks at the paper for all of ten seconds, and then stuffs it in his pocket, opting to do it later.

 

\--

 

**From: Louis Tomlinson**

**To: Harry Styles, Niall Horan**

_Hey lads ! Louis here, Zayn’s best man . Just writing to invite you to his stag night on Friday if you wanna come . We’re meeting outside the cinema near Z and Pez’ place at three, let me know if you’ll be there !! :)_

 

**From: Niall Horan**

**To: Louis Tomlinson**

_Yeah, sounds sick mate! Always up for pints see you then :)_

 

**From: Harry Styles**

**To: Louis Tomlinson**

_Hello Louis. Really nice of you to invite us. I’d love to come. See you then, and let me know if you need help arranging anything. H. Ps: check your mail :)_

 

_\--_

 

As soon as Jade comes to pick up Perrie for her hen night, Louis gleefully forces Zayn into a tight t-shirt with a superman logo in front, which on the back proudly declares ‘I’ll marry Superwoman soon’. _Gleefully_. Zayn, however, is less amused. He humours Louis, though, only grumbling slightly as he allows Louis to tie a scarf around his head, covering his eyes like a blindfold. Somehow Louis manages to manoeuvre Zayn down the stairs and out the building, all the way to the cinema actually, without causing lasting harm to any of his limbs. He’s quite crafty like that.

The other lads are waiting for them when they get there: a couple of Zayn’s cousins, a few childhood friends, Liam -- his colleague from the school -- and Harry and Niall. Harry’s hair is up in a bun today, and Louis hates himself for actually noticing.

Zayn is evidently pleasantly surprised when he learns that they’re starting out with a film, and Louis takes it upon himself to provide them all with so much popcorn and sweets that they’ll hardly be able to eat it all. It’s a special occasion, after all. Harry sidles up next to him when he’s paying, and helps carry it all wordlessly, his large hands and arms capable of carrying far more than Louis could ever hope to manage on his own.

Zayn is like a little kid when they exit the cinema about two and a half hours later, talking animatedly about the film and the special effects and various accuracies and inaccuracies of the plot. It provides plenty of amusement as they make their way to the restaurant. Louis stays by Zayn’s side, joining the conversation Zayn is having with Liam, apparently an equally enthusiastic superhero fan. Batman is his favourite, Louis quickly learns as Zayn introduces him properly.

He likes Liam, he quickly decides. He has a slightly disturbing resemblance to a human puppy, but his eyes also crinkle when he smiles, and he’s just so genuinely nice. Louis is happy that Zayn has a colleague like Liam. He’s not a teacher, though, as he bashfully tells Louis that he was never the brightest student, but he’s a school counsellor now, helping out those who have a tough time. He’s also, apparently, the one in charge of coordinating gifts for the other staff members, a task which he tells Louis is actually quite taxing, especially when no one offers to help out, which quickly makes Zayn protest that, _hey_ , he's helpful!

It’s nice how Louis seems to seamlessly fit into Zayn’s group of friends, Zayn’s London life, and he almost manages to forget that Harry’s there as well. They’re probably never gonna be the best of friends again, clearly since Harry isn’t making any effort to seek him out either, but they can be in the same group of people civilly; they can both be friends with Zayn, and that’s really nice.

He’s becoming a sap with old age, clearly.

Dinner is a large buffet of what Perrie’s assured him are Zayn’s favourite dishes from the restaurant, and Louis feels like he’s doing an okay job when Zayn comes up to him and throws his arms around him in a one-armed hug.

“This is wicked, Lou,” he says, grinning, “Exactly how I wanted it.”

“I’m glad.” Louis smiles back sincerely, squeezing him back. He looks up and catches Harry’s eye at the other end of the buffet. Harry smiles at him, happy, but also a little wistful, just a tad sad.

The corners of Louis’ lips quirk up, and he smiles back, privately, meant only for Harry.

 

\--

 

“Here ya go, lads,” Niall exclaims when he and Harry return to their table at the pub, arms filled with pints for all of them. They’re already several pints in, a couple of shots too, and they’ve taken turns getting them at the bar, everything just being written on Louis’ tab.

Louis accepts one from Harry, the last one he’s handing out but the one for himself.

“So,” Ant says, “No strippers, eh, Lou?”

Louis shakes his head. “Promised Perrie,” he smirks, with a quirk of his shoulders.

“He’s all about keeping my missus happy,” Zayn grins, taking a gulp of his beer.

“Oooh,” Danny laughs. “You should watch out then -- wouldn’t want the two of them running off together like some sort of Julia Roberts film.”

Zayn shakes his head, swatting Danny’s shoulder. “Nah,” he says. “At least I haven’t got to worry about that. Very strategic pick, innit, Lou as my best man?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Louis says drily, rolling his eyes. “You amuse me greatly, Malik.”

Zayn’s only reply is widening his grin and smacking his lips against Louis’ cheek in a wet, enthusiastic kiss.

Conversation continues then, several going on around their table at once, and Louis follows a couple mindlessly, offering a comment every now and then but nothing more. It’s half a pint and a shot later that he decides he needs some air, moving outside. He’s pleasantly buzzed, borderlining on properly drunk. The nice kind, not the ‘I’m gonna be sick and need someone to carry me home’ kind. Still, he should probably slow down a bit if he wants to avoid a hangover tomorrow; he can’t drink like he could when he was twenty and partying it up on the beaches of Thailand.

He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He’s more of a party smoker than anything else, doesn’t really like the taste of it all that much, be he likes holding it and sometimes it’s just nice to take a drag. Like now, he thinks, sucking in the smoke. He shouldn’t be so confused right now, but he is. Confused over everything, really. Over what he should do with his life now, over how being back is making him feel, how seeing Harry is making him feel. He thought he was over it a long time ago, is the thing, but seeing Harry is making him feel eighteen all over again.

He leans back against the wall of the pub, pulling his jacket around himself tighter and sliding down the wall slightly until he’s somewhat sitting. A couple walks past him on the opposite pavement, but otherwise the space outside the pub is relatively deserted.

He focuses on his cigarette, on inhaling and exhaling the smoke, and doesn’t even really register when the door to the pub opens, not until a voice is heard -- Harry’s voice.

“Didn’t know that you smoked,” Harry opens with, tone not reproachful in the slightest. He’s just stating a fact, really.

“Lots of things you don’t know about me.” Louis shrugs, looking up at Harry. Harry slides down the wall to sit next to him, close enough for Louis to be able to feel his heat though they’re not touching.

“Guess there is,” Harry concedes neutrally.

“I don’t really though,” Louis confesses after a moment of silence, “Not, like, every day at least. Mostly when I’m stressed, or when I’m drinking.”

“I remember you swearing that you’d never smoke when you were seventeen,” Harry says, a small smile playing on his lips when Louis looks sideways at him, making the statement more teasing than anything else.

“Also said I’d never smoke pot, or get a tattoo.” Louis shrugs, and pulls up the sleeve of his jacket just enough to show the head of the bird inked into his arm. “Things change.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out almost inaudibly. A beat, then, “I never thought I’d get to see you again, you know?”

“For a long time I swore I’d never return to England,” Louis admits, a combination of guilt and alcohol making him painfully honest.

“I still don’t understand why you left,” Harry confesses then, sounding frustrated, “And I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it, but I’ve just been thinking about it constantly, and—“

“Hazza,” Louis interrupts, the old nickname slipping across his tongue easily and entirely on its own volition.

Neither of them says anything for a moment, clearly equally surprised. Then Harry speaks before Louis has a chance to finally explain everything.

“I didn’t realise you were in a relationship,” Harry says, making a complete one-eighty in terms of their topics of conversation. “Perrie never mentioned when we were making the seating chart. Is she coming for the wedding as well?”

“Oh,” Louis says, “Um, I’m not?”

It’s Harry’s turn to say, “Oh” now, sounding genuinely surprised. “I didn’t—It’s just… Zayn just said that about not having to worry about you and Perrie, so I just assumed you must be taken. But that’s silly of me, of course, obviously you’re not going to steal his girl—“

“Zayn was referring to the fact that I’m gay,” Louis admits, avoiding Harry’s eyes. It’s been a long time since he had to come out to someone who’s opinion of him genuinely mattered, and he doesn’t exactly have the best track record with it.

“What?” Harry sounds shocked, his default emotion apparently being ‘surprise’ right now.

Louis shrugs, figures; in for a penny, in for a pound. “That’s why I left.” He chances a look at Harry and sees the other man shaking his head in bewilderment. It can’t be that difficult for Harry to grasp, Louis was in the middle of his brightly coloured trousers phase when he left, after all. Maybe Harry is going through all their childhood memories, assigning them new meanings. The thought makes Louis feel sick.

“I don’t understand,” Harry says, speaking even slower than usually. “You left because you’re gay? That’s—shit, Lou… _Why_?! I thought you didn’t care about me anymore. I thought you left as soon as something better came along. Did you think I’d care about that?”

“I—“ Louis starts, overwhelmed, “You don’t?”

“No, bloody hell, _Louis_.” He sounds almost pained. “Why would I ever?”

“My mum did,” Louis confesses. “Care, I mean. Said she didn’t want a fag for a son.”

“Lou,” Harry breathes, sounding almost pained, like his entire world is falling apart for Louis. “I can’t believe—god, Lou. So you moved? I don’t—“

“Well, she kicked me out -- or, well, Alan did, but she didn’t exactly protest. I didn’t quite have that many options, did I? Didn’t know where to go.” He shrugs, dropping his head.

“You could have gone to me,” Harry protests, and this time he does sound hurt. “I would have been there for you, Louis; you could have lived with us. You know my mum has always loved you. She would have let you stay with us. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“I was scared of how you’d react,” Louis admits. “Helen’d just kicked me out because I liked boys, I didn’t have, you know, a lot of confidence in human kind.”

“But—Louis, I don’t understand, had I ever given you any reason to believe I wouldn’t be okay with you being gay?” Harry asks, turning his body slightly to better be able to look at Louis, but Louis can’t meet his eyes, not yet, not when he’s telling him this.

“I was in love with you,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “Hopelessly in love with the charming straight boy who had everyone wrapped around his little finger -- my best friend. I was scared of telling you, because I was scared you’d find out and be freaked out, and kick me out too. I don’t think I could have handled it. I was scared, and I was hurt, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ve always been a bit reckless and spontaneous, so I packed what I could into a bag and just left. Went to the airport, bought the cheapest ticket I could get as far away from England.”

When he looks up, Harry is shaking his head, looking almost manic. “I can’t believe,” he mutters. “I just _can’t believe_.” He finally looks up, meeting Louis’ eyes, tears lining his bottom lashes but not yet falling. “I was so hopelessly in love with you when you left, Lou,” he admits, looking quite hopeless and tearing down Louis’ world with a few words, turning everything he knows upside down.

“God, Louis,” Harry continues, running his hands over his face, “I wouldn’t have turned you away for being gay. _I’m_ gay, for god’s sake. And I was in love with you pretty much my entire fucking childhood and then you just _left_ , and you never—you never even contacted me again.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head, because Harry’s got that wrong. “No, I did contact you. Fuck, Harry, I was barely in the air for an hour before I missed you fiercely, and started feeling so guilty about leaving you behind. I wrote you postcards -- I know, not much -- but I thought you hated me. I thought my mum had probably told you why I was gone, and you hated me too. I don’t know. I’m sorry, Harry; I wasn’t thinking clearly in the weeks after it all. But I kept writing you regularly for months, and you never wrote back. I only stopped when I started the blog, and even then I sent you a postcard with the link in hopes that you’d contact me. You never wrote me back.”

“I never got any of those, Louis,” Harry frowns, “I moved, like, almost right after you left, I guess, like… I guess they must have kept being sent to my old address, and I just never got any of them?”

“God, our lives are such a soap opera,” Louis lets out a small laugh, mind swimming slightly.

“Tell me about it,” Harry agrees, “If the whole travelling thing ever stops working for you, you could probably pen a popular young adult novel based on all of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis vows, and chances a small smile at Harry, relieved when Harry returns it. If there are butterflies in his stomach, it’s just because of the shots, surely. He hesitates for a moment, knowing full well that he’s about to prod a sleeping bear, potentially shaking the common ground they seem to have found, but it’s just… there’s just something that’s bothering him.

“You’re not as mad as I thought you’d be,” he says, and then elaborates, “At me, I mean. Like, not even when we met. Why weren’t you more pissed?” His tone is bold, but he suspects his face is just curious. That’s how he feels, anyway.

“I think,” Harry starts out slowly, “I’ve had a long time to get over it, I guess. A long time to put things into perspective, you know? I didn’t want to go around holding a grudge forever, so one day I just decided that I was done being angry with you. And when I actually saw you again, I mostly just felt… confused, but also sort of happy, I guess. Because—because, well, even on the days when I was most hurt and most angry, I still missed you more than anything. And it’s been eight years, so of course it’s lessened, but… it was really just, well, quite lovely to see you again.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I came back,” Louis admits, and then has to quell the intense need to clasp a hand over his mouth. His brain to mouth filter is clearly faulty.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, and Louis’ gaze drops to his lips on its own volition, taking in the plump, pink lips, looking so soft, and so inviting, glistening with just a hint of saliva as Harry’s tongue runs along its seam. _God._

He doesn’t even register that he’s leaning closer, until he’s so close to Harry that he can almost feel his lips against his own. Harry must be leaning too, surely Louis hasn’t breached all that distance on his own, and his glance flits from Harry’s slightly parted, inviting lips to his eyes, finding that both are closed. Louis’ own eyes drift shut, and they’re nearly there only just a fraction of a millimetre more and he’ll finally feel what it’s like to have Harry’s lips touch his, will finally feel them intimately connect like he’s spent so many of his adolescent years dreaming of. He’s nearly there, so close, and it won’t be the Harry of his teens he’ll be kissing -- and though he will probably always have a soft spot for that version of him -- but he thinks this version is probably even better.

So close, and then—

“There you are!” Zayn’s excited voice comes, way more enthusiastic than it would ever be sober. They startle apart immediately, Louis looking up at Zayn who seems to be entirely oblivious about what he just interrupted. His lips feel cold and lonely, like he can almost feel the ghost of a kiss that never was. “I’ve been looking all over for you two. Where’ve you been?” Zayn continues as Harry’s getting up, holding out his hand to help Louis. He accepts it gratefully, not sure he has the coordination just yet to get up himself. “Just out here? Come back in; I’m missing you. My best man and wedding planner disappearing on me. W _hat_ a stag party.”

When they walk through the door back into the pub, for just a second, Harry’s hand rests against Louis’ lower back.

They don't speak of it again the rest of the night.

 

\--

 

Somehow he ends up meeting up with Harry twice over the next week leading up to the wedding. Once to look at the decorations Harry has sorted for the car, and another just to have coffee when Louis somehow finds himself in the neighbourhood of Harry’s office and asks him if he’s available. They don’t speak about what happened at the pub; honestly, Louis can’t figure out if Harry even remembers. If he does, he hasn’t made any indication of it, and Louis isn’t sure how drunk Harry was exactly.

He’s happy to just have Harry somewhat back in his life, and it seems that Harry at least remembers enough of it all to know that they’ve cleansed the air. Somehow the eight years that’s passed since Louis left have ended up being an advantage for them, every trace of hurt and bitterness washed away by the tide of time and their talk. It seems like the beginning of a new chapter, like turning a page, and even though they’ll never be back to who they used to be, and they’ll never be what Louis has now discovered they could have been, maybe they can at least manage to build up the kind of relationship where Louis would call him up whenever he’s in London, and they’ll go for coffee. Exchange an email every now and then. Not be strangers, basically. Casual friends. Acquaintances. Childhood friends. Whatever label ends up being put on it, he’s just happy if Harry’s somewhat in his life.

It may be sappy, but it’s true.

Everything that had happened back then was a big misunderstanding, the most unfortunate sequence of events that together ended up being catastrophic. But he can’t quite regret any of it, because if he hadn’t left, there’s no way he would be where he is now. Harry probably wouldn’t be where he is either; Louis never heard him express any interest in becoming a wedding planner back when they knew each other. In the end, everything happens for a reason, and that more than anything is something Louis has always lived by, a mantra that practically got him through the time right after he left England. He has to believe that he also met Harry again for a reason, and the cleansing of the air between them is like a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying around being lifted from his shoulders.

It’s like he can breathe again, even if he’d never known his airways were being restricted.

He can’t help but wish he didn’t have to leave.

When the day of the wedding rolls around, he considers it his finest job helping Zayn get ready, not that it really takes much of an effort to make him look good. Honestly, Zayn could probably have turned up at City Hall with greasy hair and yesterday’s sleep-ruffled clothes, and still be the best looking one there.

He fixes Zayn’s tie, though, fusses over his hair, making the last minute executive decision to pull a small strand of hair from his quiff to fall over his forehead. Zayn eyes him suspiciously after that one, but ultimately seems to decide to humour Louis. Good. He should, really, because Louis is clever and worldly, and he once attended a fashion show in Paris, so he _knows_ stuff. Right.

It’s a quiet ceremony, their wedding. They do it at the City Hall, only having their immediate family, Louis and a couple of their other close friends there. It’s beautiful, even in its simplicity and the ordinariness of a communal wedding, because the love they have for each other shines through, permeates the air until you can’t help but feel hopeful and misty eyed.

They say yes, and exchange rings, Perrie in her simple white dress and with her comic book bouquet, looking like a vision and no less, and Zayn in his dark suit, boutonniere to match Perrie. They’re a stunning couple, happiness only making them more attractive.

A car takes them to the reception where they are met with not only their families, but Zayn and Perrie’s colleagues as well, childhood friends, friends of the family, so many people only there to celebrate the two of them and the love they have for each other.

In some ways, Louis has never felt lonelier.

They stay at the reception for only an hour and a half, before those who are invited drive off to the party. Louis knows that four courses of delicious food are waiting for them, dances and speeches – his speech – and so much fun, and, somewhere, probably Harry as well. He can’t help but want to spend the day with him too, knows that he shouldn’t feel like that, knows that Harry will technically be at work, knows that he’s somehow starting to fall for Harry exactly like he’d started to do over a decade ago. And he’s powerless to stop it, is setting himself up for heartache, surely, because he’s leaving and he can’t ask Harry to come with him, even if Harry by some miraculous twist of fate was interested in him as well. Thing is, though, there’s a part of him that he can’t seem to shake that thinks that, well, that Harry _is_ interested in him as well. There’s a part of him that can’t help but think that surely he can’t be imagining the lingering looks, the small touches, the secret smiles – and that almost kiss. They might both have been drunk, but still. In the end, though, it’s inconsequential, because they will be parting ways, and Harry’s worth a lot more than long distance. He deserves better, and somehow, though it seems harder to achieve, almost impossible, so does Louis. It’s rotten luck that they must come together now, under these circumstances, but it’s life.

He spots Harry standing in a corner immediately upon entering the venue, what looks like an expensive, professional camera slung around his neck. Automatically, he moves towards him.

“Didn’t know you dabbled in photography,” is what he opens with when he reaches Harry, the other man having spotted him as he made his way towards him, a small smile waiting to greet Louis, dimples on display.

“I dabble in a lot of things,” Harry grins. “Photography is a bit of a hobby. I offered to photograph their evening for free.”

“That’s nice of you.” Louis smiles, warmth spreading through him.

Harry hums in reply. “Everything been going well today?”

“More than.” Louis nods. “Perfect, I’d dare say, even. They seem so happy.”

“They’re gonna last, I think,” Harry says, smiling down at Louis.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but tease. “You got some sort of sixth sense for that kind of predictions?”

“No.” Harry grins bashfully, “But you pick up a thing or two in my trade.” He winks – fucking _winks_ – before continuing, “I’ve arranged weddings for plenty of couples I could just tell weren’t right for each other, I just knew it was only a matter of time before it ended in divorce. Sometimes they didn’t even make it down the aisle. It’s easy to tell when two people aren’t right for each other.”

“And when they are?” Louis asks, tilting his head sideways.

“Then you just know,” Harry states, suddenly more serious, and for just a moment, Louis isn’t sure they’re still talking about Perrie and Zayn, but then again, no… no, anything else would be ridiculous. And unrealistic. Sure fire way to absolute heartache. Louis isn’t sure his heart can take anymore disappointment, anymore breakage.

“You know,” Harry continues, seeming almost lost in thought, “I can’t believe I never connected the P and Z in some of your blogposts with Perrie and Zayn.”

It takes Louis a couple of seconds to get the implications of Harry’s words, but when he does his eyes nearly spring out of his head in surprise. “You’ve read my blog?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs sheepishly.

“You said you didn’t know I had it, when we met again.” Louis points out, wondering, suddenly, if Harry’d been lying.

Harry shrugs again. “I lied. I didn’t want you to know that I had been following you, that I still cared. I saw someone link it on Facebook once, maybe a little year after you started it, and, you know, I missed you, I was curious. So, I started reading. It felt nice to feel a little closer to you somehow.”

“Why didn’t you write to me, then?” Louis asks, struck by the knowledge that they could have rekindled their friendship a long time ago, albeit only electronically.

“Well, at first it was because I thought I was the reason you’d left, and then as I sort of started to forgive you, it was because I didn’t really feel like it was right anymore, you know? Like, we were leading so different lives, and you never mentioned your past or your family; it was all about the now and the future and your new friends, and I guess I felt like there wasn’t a place for me in your new life.” Harry explains with a small shrug.

“There was always this little Harry-shaped hole in me,” Louis admits, and then can’t help but be embarrassed by his own sappiness, no matter how true it is. He bites his lip, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Like, I’d stand on the Great Wall, and it would be amazing and exciting, and then there’d be this little voice inside me going, like, I wish I could experience it with you.”

“I left messages sometimes,” Harry admits sheepishly, “Like, just, nothing that would give me away, just saying how nice it seemed, or how I hoped you were doing well. I don’t know, made me feel a bit connected to you, I guess,” He frowns then, face morphing into one of concern and looking positively darling in the process. Louis kind of wants to scoop him up and cuddle him close, can’t help but hope that Harry is still little spoon after all these years, despite their vast size difference now. He wants to protect him, take care of him. “I hope that isn’t creepy.”

“Not creepy at all,” Louis reassures him with a smile and a shake of his head. “Really nice, actually. Really, really nice. That makes me so happy. You’ll have to tell me your penname at some point so I can go back and read them knowing they’re from you.”

“No way.” Harry shakes his head. “I’m quite happy being anonymous, thanks.”

“You know,” Louis smirks, “I’ll just look through all the usernames that have to do with bananas, and I’ll find you eventually, Styles.”

Something about Harry’s dimples tells him that he’s probably on the right track, but Harry just smiles, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “I better start taking pictures,” he says regretfully, “And you better get back to the party.”

Louis nods, knowing Harry is right, and straightens up, ready to walk back into the throngs of people.

“Hey,” Harry stops him with a warm hand curling around Louis’ wrist. “Save me a dance?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. “I will, Curly.” He turns away, Harry’s grip loosening on his wrist and falling away as Louis re-joins the party.

 

\--

 

‘Save me a dance’ turns out to be ‘come sway with me to the sound of my iPod as we clean up the worst mess after everyone’s gone’, but Louis can’t really say that he minds. They’d both been too busy with their individual tasks to actually see much of each other, so after sending Perrie and Zayn off for their honeymoon in the wicked car Louis had arranged with Harry’s help, and saying goodbye to the rest of the guests, Harry and Louis are the only ones left. Louis figures that it’s his responsibility as the best man, to make sure that everything is presentable, figuring that they better pour out the leftover drinks and store away the leftover food for Zayn and Perrie to enjoy when they return, so that the cleaning crew can do their job in the morning. Harry stays to help him. They box away the food and store it in the car Louis rented for himself today, and when Louis comes back inside from putting the last of the wedding cake in his trunk, Harry is standing by the speakers, his iPhone plugged in and a soft tune washing over the room.

It’s three am and Louis looks at him curiously, quirking a brow.

“I do believe you promised me a dance,” Harry smiles as he moves closer, holding out his hand for Louis to take.

He does so, marvelling privately at how Harry’s massive paw engulfs his own hand, revelling at the warmth of his skin. “I do believe I did.” He smiles when Harry pulls him close and starts to sway them gently to the music.

It’s nice, lovely, really, being in Harry’s arms, resting his head against his shoulder. They’re not dancing as much as they’re rocking back and forth gently, holding each other tight. It’s a bit like Harry wishes to never let him go. The planes of their bodies line up, and despite their height difference, it’s perfect. Louis’ head is on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s head is tipped down to rest against the top of Louis’ head. It’s probably more a hug than anything else.

“You really are leaving tomorrow?” Harry asks after what could either be only a couple of seconds, or several centuries. Louis has lost all sense of time, feels infinite, lost in the moment.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, holding Harry a little closer as though to prevent their imminent separation.

“I wish you would stay,” Harry admits in a whisper. “It feels like I just got you back in my life. I don’t want to lose you again already.”

Louis pulls back just enough to be able to look him in the eyes, unsure of what to say. Harry’s words make him simultaneously want to smile and cry, kiss him and cuddle him. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t put together a string of words that could possibly convey what he is feeling right now.

He doesn’t have the words, but he does have actions, so he pulls Harry closer by the neck and kisses him.

It feels like an actualisation of a ten year old want, it feels like a dream come true and every other cliché, because Louis is just a little bit drunk on champagne and Harry’s presence, and sadness and happiness all at once.

It’s so odd that when he arrived to London, saw Harry for the first time, he couldn’t wait to get away from him again, and now, only two weeks later, he never wants to leave.

It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was, they shouldn’t have fallen together again with such ease. There should have been more hurt feelings, bigger grudges, but… somehow there wasn’t. Somehow, seeing each other again was exactly what they needed, what both of them had needed for a long time, perhaps even without really knowing it themselves. It has been like closure and a new beginning all tangled up, except for the fact that it was never tangible, it was always only a matter of weeks, days, hours before it would splinter apart. Louis is leaving in twelve hours, and the life he leads does not warrant a place for Harry.

He doesn’t focus on all that now, though. How could he when he was Harry’s lips pressed against his own, when Harry’s tongue is running along the seam of Louis’ lips, waiting for them to part? How could he when their tongues make contact -- hot and wet and _too much_?

Not enough. Never enough.

His hands fist in Harry’s curls, and they’re just as soft as he remembers them. What he doesn’t remember, though, is the way Harry moans into Louis’ mouth when Louis tightens his grip, pulling at Harry’s hair slightly.

“Come home with me,” Louis breathes hotly into Harry’s ear, once he’s released the other man’s lips and kissed along his jaw to his ear.

“Please,” Harry moans, nodding his head vehemently. “Yeah, yes, Lou, please.”

“Okay, okay.” Louis pulls back, intertwining his hands with Harry’s. “Have you been drinking?”

“Working,” Harry reminds him with a grin. “Haven’t had a drop of alcohol.”

“Good, great,” Louis rambles, pulling Harry out the door and into the cold air. “You’re driving then.” He lets go of Harry’s hand and tosses him the keys, watching fondly as Harry fumbles slightly with catching them.

“Are _you_ sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice careful. “I can just drop you off at their place too, if you want.”

“Harold.” Louis shakes his head, knowing exactly what the other man is thinking. He steps closer to him, fisting his hands in Harry’s coat and pulls him the rest of the way until Louis can stand up on his tiptoes and kiss Harry hard. “I’m barely even tipsy, love,” he reassures him before continuing, “Just don’t think it’s very responsible of me to drive.”

“Okay.” Harry smiles, kissing Louis chastely one last time, softer now. “Let’s go then.”

They spend the drive to Zayn and Perrie’s flat in comfortable silence, so unlike the one weighing them down the first time they had each other one on one, only weeks ago. It’s almost scary, and also so wonderful, how easily they’ve slipped into their old rhythms, and Louis wishes he had the opportunity to really get to know the new Harry. He’s still the same underneath it all, the core of him unchanged, but there are so many new layers to him, and Louis wishes he had the time to get intimately acquainted with every single one of them. He doesn’t doubt he’d love them all.

 

\--

 

Harry’s lips are hot on his neck, trailing down, biting and sucking and Louis is in fucking paradise. He knows just how to work him over, Harry does, as though they used to be more than friends, though it was never the case. He can play Louis body like Beethoven’s 4th concerto on a Steinway and Sons piano, and Louis swears he’s never been so turned on in his _life_.

Harry’s lips trail down his body, and Louis’ _moans_ , because it doesn’t fucking matter what Harry’s doing, it feels fucking divine all the same, like he’s coming undone and being put together at exactly the same time. It’s all encompassing, robs him of his senses and enhances them, and Louis wants more and wants him to stop, and it’s confusing and brilliant and too much and never enough and—

Holy fucking _Christ_.

Harry takes the head of his cock into his mouth, licking at the tip as his massive hand holds it still with a firm grip around the base, borderlining on too much.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he chants, and Harry looks up at him through his lashes to where Louis is propped up on his elbows, taking in the divine sight that is Harry with the tip of Louis’ cock in his mouth. “God, you’re amazing, love, a fucking master at sucking cock—oh my _god_...” It’s as though Harry decides that he doesn’t just want to be the master, he wants to be the fucking… whatever is better than being master, because he sinks down. He takes in more and more of Louis’ dick until he has to remove his hand, and he just continues, continues until his lips reach the base, his nose nestled in Louis’ pubic hair, and Louis’ cock touching the back of Harry’s throat.

Oh, god, Harry is deep throating him, and it’s sodding amazing, truly mesmerising the way he hollows his cheeks, creating suction all around. He could come, right here, right now. It wouldn’t even be remotely hard (shit, if that ever was a pun Harry would appreciate); it really wouldn’t.

“God, Harry,” Louis moans, laughing half-deliriously, “I swear, if I’d known you were such a good cock-sucker, I’d have made sure we did this when you were sixteen.”

Harry pulls off him, grinning, his lips swollen, red and glistening with saliva, as he climbs up Louis’ body, his own naked body looming over Louis’, and he bends down just enough to seal together their lips. Harry’s mouth tastes faintly of Louis’ precome and Louis’ dick, but he honestly couldn’t care less, finds it kind of hot actually, because all it means is that Harry’s _his_ , that it’s his cock Harry is sucking, his come he’s swallowing and his lips he’s kissing.

“Want you to fuck me,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ mouth, and, yeah, alright, Louis can get on board that idea. “Wanna suck your cock until you come too, but want you to fuck me.”

“I’m an old man,” Louis gasps, half teasingly as Harry sucks on his jaw, “Can’t have it all, Styles.”

“I know,” Harry whispers, grinning momentarily into Louis’ skin before scraping his teeth along Louis’ jaw. “That’s why, you know, fuck me, priorities.” It’s a string of words that form a sentence that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, and yet does all at once. Louis supposes it doesn’t really matter, because whatever the meaning and the outcome, he’s getting off with Harry, and, honestly, he’d be more than satisfied if they’d ended up just rubbing off against each other, still in their trousers, like a pair of horny teenagers. He’d probably end up dubbing it the best sex of his life even then, because _Harry_.

“Roll over,” he orders, giving Harry one last hard kiss. “Roll over, and I’ll get the lube and a condom.”

“Alright, okay,” Harry agrees, nodding eagerly as he clumsily climbs off Louis and lies down on his back, spread eagle.

Louis takes a moment to take in Harry’s beautiful, naked form, all strong muscles and long limbs, defined abs and soft hips. He’s a perfect mixture of conundrums and opposites, and it just _works_. His cock lies long and hard against his stomach, framed by those silly laurels tattooed into his hips that Louis can’t help but just love. He loves every single splattering of black ink he’s found on Harry’s body thus far, is sure he will love every single one he’s yet to find, because the boy seems to have a never-ending collection of inkings, and Louis wants to trace his tongue over the lines of every single one of them, wants to taste and mark and remember.

“Hurry up,” Harry murmurs, voice slow and almost syrupy, words dripping like molasses.

Louis scurries off the bed, luckily doesn’t have to look long before his hand triumphantly clutches around a bottle of lube and a string of condoms. He doesn’t bother pulling just one off, brings the entire strip along with him as he climbs back onto the bed, sitting on his knees for a moment, just taking Harry in once more.

“Come on.” Harry smiles up at him, sweet and trusting and so fucking lovely. He extends a hand towards Louis, wanting to pull him closer, surely.

Louis smiles back at him, heart literally singing with joy, every beat like that of a drum, starting its own melody. He takes Harry’s hand, but only to place a kiss on it sweetly before letting go.

“Are you clean?” He asks, running his hand down Harry’s hip, fingers digging into his buttock.

“Hmm,” Harry answers, sounding almost drugged, and it takes him a few moments to register what Louis means. “Oh,” he says once it dims for him. “Uh, yeah, yeah.”

“You okay with it?” Louis asks, wants to be sure as his fingers dig deeper into the soft flesh of Harry’s arse.

“Very okay,” Harry breathes with a small nod and a dazed smile. Louis grins back, can’t resist bending down to kiss him quickly.

“Turn around then,” he says scooting back slightly on the bed as Harry does so. Next thing he’s presented with is the glorious view of Harry’s naked back, the muscles flexing and the round softness of his arse. He swings his leg over Harry’s so that he’s straddling his thighs, and he starts kissing along the cleft where Harry’s upper thigh merges into his arse, biting and sucking his way towards the cleft first on one cheek and then on the other.

Once he’d sucked a rather impressive love mark into Harry’s left cheek, he'd contemplated for a few seconds whether to do one matching on the right, but he decides that there is something aesthetically pleasing about going against the norm of symmetry. He gently spreads Harry’s cheeks with his hands. Harry gasps slightly, breathing already heavy as he waits for Louis’ lips to touch his hole.

His hole is pink and pretty and perfect, really, if they’re going for alliteration. Louis is no poet, but in times like these -- whenever he’s got Harry close -- he feels like he might as well be.

Louis bends down and places a kiss right on top of it, opting out of teasing Harry because he’s not sure he could take it himself. Harry moans prettily, and, Christ, Louis hasn’t even pushed _anything_ inside him yet. He licks over it, a broad wet strike, tasting the earthy tones that are so indescribably Harry, and wanting just _more_. He takes a few more licks, Harry’s already broken moans and little ah-ah- _ah_ ’s like his own personal soundtrack.

Eventually, he pushes the tip of his tongue inside, feels how Harry’s tight ring muscle squeezes around him. Harry’s beyond loud now, seems entirely without restraints as he moans and cries out, high-pitched and then deeply, right after each other. Louis thanks the heavens that Zayn and Perrie are on a plane already, and prays that their flat has thick walls.

“Lou _is_ ,” Harry whines, as Louis starts fucking in and out of him with his tongue, wet and sloppily, his hands holding on to Harry’s hips tightly. “Lou, stop,” he moans, “You gotta stop—I can’t—I’m gonna… I’m gonna come— _oh god,_ Louis, please—Lou, I want you to fuck me— _ah, AH_ —please.”

Louis pulls out with a wet sound, kissing the base of Harry’s spine and then each of his shoulder blades as he wastes no time lubing up his fingers, and pressing the first one in without preamble.

"Feels so fucking good, love," Harry moans once Louis has all of his digit in. "More, please, I can take more."

"Yeah?" Louis asks rhetorically, kissing Harry right arse cheek chastely.

"Yeah, god, please," Harry moans. "Want you inside me already, can't wait anymore."

"Just a few more moments," Louis murmurs into the small of Harry's back, licking at the salty sweat that's started gathering there. He pushes in a second finger, pumping them in and out a few times before adding a third. He spreads them apart and then presses them together again, before hooking them slightly, searching for that one place that will just make Harry go--

" _Oh_ , bloody buggering _hell_ , oh my _god_ ," Harry moans, babbles, arching up his back, his chest heaving as he seems to struggle to breathe properly. The little shit that he is, Louis continues to rub Harry's prostate until Harry's legs are spasming beneath him, and the other man has practically come all undone.

"I'm gonna come," Harry cries out, entire body shaking. "Lou, stop, I'm gonna come."

Regretfully, Louis pulls out his fingers, the process eased by the reminder that soon his fingers will be replaced by his own cock, which is hanging heavy and neglected between his legs. He swings his leg off Harry again, settling next to him as he fumbles for the string of condoms.

"Turn over," he says to Harry, as he tears one package off and tries to open it with lube-sticky fingers.

Harry does so while Louis takes the package between his teeth, tearing it open that way while Harry watches him with wide eyes from where he's laying on his back now, cock flushed on his stomach and leaking precome onto his belly. He doesn't look like he can hold off on coming for much longer, but it's alright because neither can Louis.

He rolls the condom onto his cock, acutely aware of the way Harry's eyes follow his every movement, and instead of it making him feel self-conscious like it probably would if Harry had been any other man, it makes him feel hot, makes him feel _desirable_.

"God," Harry says, voice slightly broken like he just can't quite believe it, eyes staring at Louis' cock. "You so fucking hung."

Louis blushes slightly, can feel his cheeks warming, as he coats his cock in a layer of lube.

"C'mere," Harry begs, stretching out his hands for Louis and making grabby hands. "Come on, Lou, I've waited long enough."

It's cheeky and it's Harry, and Louis can't do anything but bend down and kiss him, before leaning back up and lining his cock up with Harry's entrance, still wet with spit and lube.

Harry draws his legs up towards his chest, holding them there with his arms and allowing Louis better access to his hole. Once Louis starts pressing in, Harry moans prettily, his eyes falling closed in pleasure, and it's possibly, _probably_ , the best thing Louis has ever felt. When he's all the way in, he stills, needing a moment for both his own and Harry's sake, to take in everything, to regain some semblance of control.

Harry stretches out his legs then, and in an impressive show of acrobatics, he places them over Louis shoulders, bringing them even closer together.

"Impressive." Louis grins into Harry's mouth.

"I do yoga," Harry pants back, making Louis laugh into Harry's mouth.

"Why are you so bloody lovely?" He can't help but ask rhetorically, hands gripping Harry's strong thighs.

"Dunno," Harry gasps, squeezing tight around Louis. "I'd be even lovelier if you started moving, though."

Louis shakes his head and digs his nails into Harry's skin. It's supposed to be punishment for Harry being cheeky, but, really, he quite suspects that Harry likes a little pain, so it probably isn't that at all. Besides, he can't really find any faults in Harry's request that he starts moving; it's in his best interest, too, after all.

He pulls his hips back until it's only the tip of his cock still inside Harry, and then pushes back in, eliciting sounds from Harry he wished he could bottle up and keep with him forever. He builds up a rhythm slowly, maddeningly, until Harry is begging for 'harder, harder, _harder'_ and Louis himself is teetering on the edge of the ultimate pleasure.

He snaps his hips harder and faster with each thrust, aiming for Harry's prostate and hitting it with nearly every thrust.

He can't figure out which of them is the closest to coming, only knows that he's nearly there and Harry seems to be too. They’re so close the both of them that it's only a question of seconds before they lose sense of time and place, giving in to sensation only.

"Gonna--" Harry starts, one leg slipping down from Louis' shoulder and wrapping around his back.

" _Come_ ," Louis interrupts him, finishes, wrapping his hand around Harry's cock and pumping it tightly twice. Almost like Louis' command was the only thing he was waiting for, Harry starts coming, and Louis is only a fraction of a second behind him.

He pulses into the condom, pushed all the way inside Harry, his tight heat squeezing deliciously around him. Harry's come splatters up Harry's own chest as he comes _hard_ , his other leg falling down as well and lying heavily next to Louis'.

When he finally starts coming down, he pulls out of Harry carefully, pulling off the condom and tying it up. He climbs off the bed and wanders into the bathroom, mind still in a sex haze as he throws out the condom and gets a flannel for Harry, wetting it slightly with warm water.

He wanders back into the room to find Harry exactly in the position he left him in. He looks content and sated, a small smile playing on his lips and eyes closed. The bed dips with Louis weight as he sits down on it next to Harry. Harry's come paints an almost pretty picture on his stomach, adding white to the black lines of the equally beautiful and ridiculous butterfly.

Probably to be blamed by post-coital blissed out brains, Louis bends down to lick a small splatter of the come off Harry's chest, coincidentally right over one of his extra nipples.

"God," Harry breathes out, making Louis look up at him, finding Harry looking back at him, eyes now open. "Stop being so sexy, Lou, I can't take it right now."

Laughing, Louis moves up slightly to kiss Harry, the taste of his come still on his tongue. He finds, somehow, that he really quite likes it.

He cleans Harry up and drops the dirty flannel on the floor next to the bed, snuggling into the bed and pulling the duvet over their still naked bodies. Harry turns slightly, cuddling into Louis’ embrace as Louis wraps his arms around him. Harry kisses his shoulder gently, hand coming to rest on the dip of Louis’ waist.

“Goodnight, Lou,” he murmurs sleepily into Louis’ skin.

“Sweet dreams, H,” Louis whispers back, his own eyelids growing heavy as he presses his nose into Harry’s curls, breathing in their smell.

They fall asleep wrapped around each other, breathing in tandem.

 

\--

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning, it takes him a couple of moments to realise why it is he _shouldn’t_ be waking up alone. There’s no denying it, though; Harry isn’t there anymore. Not in the bed, at least, and based on the eerie silence of the flat, it doesn’t seem like he’s anywhere there either; not in the kitchen cooking them breakfast, or in the loo having a wee.

It hurts more than it should, probably, and if he hadn’t been sure that what he had started feeling for Harry was deeper and more than just primal attraction, but it is -- it must be -- and here’s his confirmation. You’re not saddened by the lack of presence from your one night stand the next day like this. And it’s a bit of a shock too, loathe as he is to admit it, because the way Harry had touched him, the words he’d spoken last night, Louis really had thought he felt something too.

But now he’s waking up in a cold bed, alone.

He supposes, in the long run, it’s for the best. At least it’s harder to miss someone who’s so blatantly made it clear that they don’t want you back. At least he knows that there’s nothing for him here in London.

His alarm goes off then, and he forces himself to sit up in bed, turning it off. He’s got four hours until his plane leaves, and he needs to take a shower and get to the airport. Luckily, he can drop off the car there, so he won’t have to wait for a taxi.

He’s about to swing his legs out of bed, when something catches his eye. It’s a small, neatly folded piece of paper, lying on the pillow that had been Harry’s. He grabs it eagerly, heart pounding, nervous suddenly, because surely it’s from Harry, but what does he want? Louis almost doesn’t want to open it, because he can only see two possibilities; either Harry regrets doing this, or he doesn’t, just had to leave, and honestly he’s not sure what would be worst—or best. At least one of them would offer as clean a break as they seem to be able to get, while the other means that at least he isn’t alone in what he’s feeling.

It’s all so fucking confusing.

He finally gathers the courage to look, opening it with a deep breath and taking in the words.

_‘I don’t think I could bear to watch you leave again. I’m sorry. I’m going to miss you so much.’_

The ‘so much’ is underlined twice, and next to it is a blotch of ink as though Harry’s held the pen there for several moments, itching to write something more but not being able to. He reads it again, and then again, lets the words sink into his brain, really sit there until he _understands_.

He allows himself a few moments to just be sad, because it’s all just so fucking fucked up. Then, everything becomes clear, and in the end it’s really not a difficult choice at all, is it? He knows what he has to do.

He showers and then throws on some clothes, brushes his teeth and doesn’t bother with breakfast. He’s not hungry. He stuffs the last few things into his suitcases, zips them up, and looks around the room to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything essential. At last, he picks up the luggage, and trudges down the stairs, coming to a halt on the pavement.

He gets into the car, and drives to the airport. There’s a plane to New York waiting for him.

 

\--

 

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

He’s never been here before, and yet he chooses for the first time to make an appearance to be at two o’clock in the middle of a night, straight off a plane. He’s gotten the address from Zayn and Perrie, who returned back from their honeymoon only yesterday. Probably the most sensible thing would be to have stayed with them for the night and gone here in the morning, or, hell, even have gotten a hotel room somewhere and a couple of hours of sleep.

Yet, here he is.

Here he is, rumpled from the plane, jetlagged and probably a bit smelly, too, god; he really should have stopped to take a shower. He can’t wait, though, has already waited weeks, and he knows that if he were to stall anymore, he’d start second guessing his decision once again, would start questioning whether it was a good idea or absolutely stark raving mad. Probably the latter, to be honest. He knows that there’s a fair chance that he’ll either knock to no reply, or have the door slammed in his face. He’s here, though, he’s here with all of his bags, all his belongings, really, the little he has collected and deemed worthy of keeping. He’s got no place to live; no place he wants to be but here.

So, it’s really an easy decision in the end. He knocks on the door.

Several seconds pass. Possibly minutes. There’s no reply. He knocks again, it’s in the middle of the night, after all, he’s probably sleeping on the other side of the door.

Still no answer.

He’s raising his hand, just about to rap his knuckles again the door one last time when it opens and reveals a sleep-ruffled Harry on the other side. His curls are a mess, matted down on one side of his face and completely tousled on the other. He’s rubbing his eye with one fist, a motion that stills completely in shock when he sees Louis on the other side of the threshold.

“Louis?” He asks, clearly surprised, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey, H,” Louis says sheepishly. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” He kind of wants to hit himself after that, because, god, priorities, and also how fucking _lame_.

Harry, on the other hand, chuckles, albeit this nervous, unsure chuckle, like he’s not really sure how to take the fact that Louis knocked on his door in the middle of the night, bags piled around his feet. Honestly, how many ways of taking this are there? Louis quite thinks it’s pretty obvious what it is he wants.

“I—“ Harry says, and the shakes his head, looking down at Louis and offering him a tentative smile. “You’re here.” He states obviously.

“Your note…” Louis starts, and then trails off, not sure what to say or where to start. He’s had two weeks and a seven-hour flight to figure out what to say once he was face to face with Harry again, and yet now that he’s here all he’s got is nothing; he’s blank.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, looking down and avoiding Louis’ eyes. “I know that was such a terrible way to end things, such a shitty thing to do, just leaving like that, but I knew you had to leave and that it was just one night to you, and I just—“

“It wasn’t.” Louis shakes his head, denies. “It wasn’t just one night to me. I thought it had to be, but I never wanted it to be. When I woke up and your note was all there was left of you, I just… I realised it didn’t have to be, I guess. That I didn’t want it to be, and that I could actually do something about it.” He takes a deep breath, meets Harry’s eyes and shrugs his shoulders gently. He’s ready to put it all out there, ready to risk his heart, trust Harry with it and trust that he treats it right.

“I quit my job—well, sort of, anyway. It’s a long story. Point is, I’m moving… here, to London, if you’ll have me. Because, well, because the truth is, Harry, that I’m in love with you, and I realised when you’d left that note that I don’t want to ever be without you either, and I don’t know how you feel, but I love you. I’m in love with you, and I’d really very much like to finally stay in one place for longer than three weeks at a time… with you.” When he finishes he draws in another deep breath, as though he’s powered through his speech without drawing in a single molecule of oxygen. It’s an internal battle, whether to look at Harry or look away, because will it be rejection or love he finds etched into the features he so loves?

“Louis,” Harry breathes, and his tone alone would have forced Louis’ eyes to his if they hadn’t already been plastered there, deciding that the hope for love was greater than the fear of rejection. “Louis, oh, god, Louis.” Harry is shaking his head, like he can’t quite believe what Louis is saying, and a smile is blossoming on his face, tears lining his bottom lashes like they’re starting to do with Louis’. “I fucking love you too. I fucking love you so fucking _much_.”

He throws himself into Louis’ arms then, clutching him close, and Louis can do nothing but catch, squeeze him tight and vow to never let got.

“Part of me thought I’d never get to see you again,” Harry admits into Louis’ neck, neither of them seeming ready to let go quite yet. “Bigger part of me was sure I’d have to travel to New York, or wherever in the world you travelled next, and get you back.”

“Won’t be travelling far away from you anymore, darling,” Louis promises, pressing a kiss to the skin of Harry’s neck. He’s warm, sleep warm and lovely, perfect and ready for a cuddle.   

“You sure?” Harry murmurs, and it’s neither teasing nor concerned, not in the manner that he’s afraid of losing Louis at any rate. It’s more like he’s afraid that Louis is giving up on that which is important to him for Harry’s sake.

“I’ve been wanting to stop, settle down, for a while now, babe,” Louis admits, the terms of endearments flowing from his lips like the clocks of a dandelion when hit by strong wind. He can call Harry anything now, though, even the sweetest most loving of names, and he intends to do so. Nothing’s too much. “Travelling like this didn’t quite hold the same appeal as it did when I was twenty. Just didn’t have the right thing to stop for until now. I—” Harry finally extracts himself from Louis, bending down to grab some of Louis’ bags. Louis’ stops talking, stops explaining and watches Harry as he transfers every single bag just to the other side of the threshold. He then takes Louis’ hands, one in each of his own, and pulls him inside, closing the door behind him, the tell-tale sounds of the lock closing them off from the outside world.

“Continue, please.” Harry implores him gently as he pulls Louis towards the sofa, sitting them down close, hands still linked.

Louis intertwines their fingers and continues. “I quit my job at The Times,” he says. “I was going back to talk to them about which direction to take everything in anyways, and I quit. I’m doing a travel-through of England and blogging and writing columns about that for a month or so, but after that I’m done. I’m in talks with a publishing firm about making a travel book, some sort of compilation of my columns or summat, and I’m thinking maybe I could offer you my services, if you need them—“

“Me?” Harry asks with a laugh, smirking slightly and waggling his eyebrows ridiculously.

“Not like that, baby.” Louis shakes his head with an amused smile, and then amends, “Well, like that too. But, like, offering to arrange honeymoons for your clients if they’d like, or something. Only if you’d like, of course, I—“

“That’d be wicked, Lou.” Harry grins, squeezing Louis’ hands tighter. “We could work together.”

“We could.” Louis nods, leaning closer to Harry automatically as the other man does the same.

“And then we’d be happy,” Harry sing-songs, and Louis can’t help but laugh, tiny and choked up, because _that song._ It feels like his entire life has been the first verse of Wouldn’t It Be Nice, and now they’re finally at the part where it can all come true.

“If you’ll have me,” he says, leaning his forehead against Harry’s and closing his eyes. “I’d be the happiest and luckiest man in the world.”

“There’s no ‘if’,” Harry says, and shakes his head as well as he can despite the fact that they’re still connected by their foreheads. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. It’s settled, yeah?”

Louis can feel the hotness of Harry’s breath against his lips seconds before they finally meet, pressing against each other wet and firm. Harry pulls back only just a little bit, only enough to ease the pressure and allow for his lips to form words. “You haven’t got a place to stay lined up, have you?” He asks, hands letting go of Louis’ to come cup his face, run through his hair.

“No,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s lips, nipping gently on his bottom one.

“Here then,” Harry states. “We’ll make it work.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees easily, and presses back against Harry, tipping him down on the sofa and lining up their bodies, lips moving against each other like it’s the apocalypse coming and this is the last kiss they’ll ever share, like a starving man would devour food or a thirsty one water. Like it’s absolutely needed in order to survive. Who knows? Maybe it is.

Eventually they make it to bed, falling asleep wrapped around each other, and when Louis wakes up the next day, Harry’s still sleeping soundly in his arms.

And through their ups and downs, through fights and tattoos -- ships and compasses, anchors and ropes, hearts and arrows --  through children and work and mortgage, grandchildren and retirement and forever, Harry is always there right by his side.

They got it right in the end, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed? Kudos and comments are, as always, greatly appreciated!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](http://www.infinitelymint.tumblr.com) and the rebloggable fic post [here](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/106330993660/fic-in-the-end-i-started-thinking-about-the) xx


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